AN: Hello, lovelies! Just thought I'd give you a bit of Sherlock angst :)
The character Jason is from my own mind, and Sherlock Holmes belongs to Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
I won't keep you from the story long, but I want to say thank you for reading! Reviews always welcome!
Sherlock busied himself with adding a little sugar to his tea- not because he wanted it, he probably wouldn't even drink the tea, but to avoid his brothers gaze, unwavering, watching his every move.
"I must ask why you've brought me here, Mycroft." Mycroft's eyes stayed fixed on him.
"I'm simply concerned for you, brother dear." he answered. Sherlock's eyes flicked up to his.
"Why?" Mycroft's lips twitched in a ghost of a smirk, pleased to get a reaction. "You haven't called. The officers of Scotland Yard say you're sober." Sherlock nodded
"I've been sober since I've met Jason." he answered truthfully. Honestly, his body screamed for him to give it something, cocaine, heroin, marijuana, anything. There were no drugs in the flat, and Scotland Yard could confirm it if they wanted to.
"Ah, yes, Jason. The American." Sherlock stirred his tea.
"He's kept me sober." he answered, knowing how to smooth his words, hide even this half lie from Mycroft.
"A soldier in a relationship with a drug addict would no doubt bring disrespect. Dishonor." Mycroft answered coolly. Sherlock frowned.
"I've given up smoking as well. He doesn't like it. Although, he does let me have the occasional cigarette now and again when I deserve one." he answered. Mycroft tipped his head a bit.
"And an example of when you… deserve one, Sherlock?" Sherlock nearly sighed in irritation.
"My smoking matters don't concern you. I'm clean, I said. I thought that's what mattered to you in the end." he said, a bit more angry than he intended, and he nearly flinched back at Mycroft's cold stare.
"Sherlock, what's mattered to me is your safety, your happiness. Which brings me to our next subject. Are you happy with Jason?" he asked.
"Of course I am." he answered immediately, frowning.
"You're sure about that." Mycroft said, leaning forward just a little, placing his teacup in its saucer on the table.
"Yes." he glanced at the clock. "Take me home, I'll be late." He wanted to get home before Jason.
"Why the rush?" Mycroft asked, always calm.
"If you must know, I'm going to surprise Jason with dinner." Mycroft nodded.
"It's only two thirty four, Sherlock." he answered, and Sherlock gritted his teeth.
"I didn't think you'd want to know I was planning to have sex, Mycroft." he answered irritably. Mycroft blinked at him.
"Very well." he stood, as did Sherlock, walking briskly through the house and climbing into the car.
Jason opened the door as they slowed to a stop in front of 221B, smiling at Sherlock as he got out, an arm wrapping around him, hand lightly squeezing his shoulder.
"There you are, Sher, I've been looking everywhere for you." he said, smiling. Sherlock forced on a cheery smile, and Jason leaned down to peer in the car. "I don't know what I'd do without him." he said, before, "We really should be getting upstairs." Mycroft nodded, containing himself.
"Of course." he answered, shutting the door. Sherlock knew he might have sex running through his mind, disrupting and disturbing him to no end. Jason waved as the car drove off, squeezing Sherlock's shoulder a little, kissing his cheek.
"Wave, you're being rude." he breathed before turning his smile on the retreating car. Sherlock gave a small wave, and Jason steered him towards the flat.
The moment the door shut, public view cut off from them, Jason's smile disappeared. His fingers fisted a handful of coat and he started up the stairs, practically dragging Sherlock behind him. Sherlock's feet tried to keep up, and finally he was shoved harshly into the flat, landing on the rug, door slamming behind them. Jason's fingers tangled in his hair and yanked his head back so far that he shoved himself up to kneeling, unwilling to look him in the eyes.
"What did I tell you about talking to him?" he growled. A harsh 'whap' sent him tumbling to the side, cheek stinging. "What did I tell you about leaving without me?" Sherlock hoped that Mrs Hudson was out. He couldn't bear her hearing this, knowing what was happening. A boot connected harshly with his stomach, tears springing up in his eyes as he tried to suck in a breath.
"I didn't tell him anything, I didn't, I didn't…" he wheezed. "Get the fuck up." Sherlock obeyed, and Jason stripped Sherlock's coat off, hanging it up.
"Do you want to know what I found while you were out parading the town with your brother?" he spat. Sherlock stood stone still. "Guess." Jason's voice was going kind again, but it was fake-kind, not the kind reserved for the public eye.
"I don't know." he murmured, eyes on the floor. Jason ducked his head, turned it so he could peer up into Sherlock's eyes.
"You don't know." he repeated. "You don't know." he straightened up. "I found a joint, Sherlock. Under the mattress." Sherlock didn't hide joints under the mattress. Surely it was a mistake, they'd gotten rid of them all… "I flushed it already." Jason continued. The first blow caught him by surprise. The second he tried to back away, arms coming up to shield himself. In the end Sherlock was on the floor, positively shaking with sobs, apologizing profusely, unable to stop his cries, his apologies. Jason yanked Sherlock's scarf tight around his neck, cutting off not only words, but oxygen. "I said shut up!" he hissed, pulling tighter. Sherlock was nearly convulsing with how much his chest was heaving, trying to suck in air. When the edges of his vision started to go black, Jason pulled the scarf loose, throwing it to the side. "Next time I won't take it off." he snapped, standing, kicking his legs aside as he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Sherlock wheezing on the rug.
They go to the shops to pick out groceries for dinner a few hours later, Sherlock donning his heavy overcoat and scarf, as always. He obediently clasps Jason's hand, their fingers entwined. It's hard for him to walk because he's starting to bruise, but he masks it as always, smiling when he thinks it's necessary and saying yes to all the things Jason suggests. Though the publicity makes a hint of courage swell inside him. When Jason inspects vegetables, Sherlock tugs his hand from Jason's to inspect a few apples- he does occasionally snack on them, after all. He slips his choices into a bag and doesn't take Jason's offered hand.
"Sher, we have apples at home." he says with a soft smile.
"We have one." he answered. "We need more than one. I like apples, and I'm going to buy them." he answered, staring him in the eyes, daring him to make a scene here. At the darkness dwelling in Jason's eyes, he nearly flinched away. He won this tiny battle for apples in the store, but he knew once they were sealed away there would be hell to pay.
Jason doesn't punish him right away, as he suspects. Instead, he starts putting the groceries away. Sherlock runs and slips under his bed, cowering beneath it, waiting. He doesn't have to wait long. Jason reaches under the bed, drags him out by the hair, tears his shirt from him, tugs his trousers down. He shoves him face first on the bed. Sherlock braces himself, but the sharp bite of leather against his back wrenches a cry from him anyway, makes his hands fist in the sheets.
"Don't- you- ever- fucking- do- that- again-!" each word is emphasized with a blow, until finally there are no words and Jason is raining blows on him, his back, his arse, the backs of his thighs… Sherlock is sobbing hard into the mattress, sobbing so hard he might be sick from it, when the belt finally drops, and Jason is crawling up on the bed beside him. "Oh, Sher… look at me." his words are soft, and when he turns his tear streaked face to Jason, he sees a soft pair of eyes looking right back. "If you would just listen to me, Sher… I wouldn't have to punish you like this." Jason wipes away the fresh tears on Sherlock's face, kissing them away when the spill over. "You know I love you, Sher. You do." he murmured. "But when you do things like this, when you make me have to punish you… I'm not sure you love me." he continued. The silence is deafening, and so Sherlock says what Jason needs to hear.
"I love you." he rasps. "I love you too, Jason. I do." And now Jason is kissing him sweetly, just as he always does, and Sherlock's hands go to the man's shirt, breaking the kiss to push it over his head, and even though the sheets cause him pain from the belt he twists onto his back and Jason comes with him, reaching for the bedside table, and Sherlock feels nothing but sick the whole time, stomach twisting, but he doesn't dare say no, doesn't dare deny him this forgiveness.
While Jason sleeps beside him, Sherlock Holmes lays on the mattress, smelling of sex and damp with sweat, hating himself.
Exactly one year, eighty six days, and three hours ago, they began a relationship.
In precisely one year, two hundred forty seven days, six hours, four minutes, and twelve seconds, Mycroft will find Sherlock cowering beneath his bed, covered in bruises, welts, and even a few burns. He will sob in his brothers arms while Mycroft makes a few calls. Jason will be arrested, sent to an Indian prison, and will never be heard from again.
It is twelve days after he is discovered before Sherlock turns to cocaine, heroin, LSD, and any other drugs he can get a hold of.
In six years, three hundred twenty days, fifteen hours, ten minutes, and forty three seconds from the day Sherlock is discovered, he talks with Mike Stamford, knowing that no one would want him as a flat mate.
One hour and twenty two minutes after that, John Watson proves him wrong.